


Beside Me Like a Silhouette

by Domeaspreadsheet



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domeaspreadsheet/pseuds/Domeaspreadsheet
Summary: “Quite the ruckus from someone who thought they were coming home to a sleeping household,” Louis says on an exhale of smoke.Oh. Harry has been set up.“Well, maybe if I hadn’t thought you were bailing on me I would have tried harder to be quiet,” he huffs.Louis levels his gaze at him. “Is that so?”Harry nods.“Very well. You have fifteen minutes to shower and put in the plug I left on the bathroom counter. No need to dress afterward. When you come back, kneel next to the chair on my right. You may go.”





	Beside Me Like a Silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> The [photo](http://softgolfdaddy.tumblr.com/post/163652706861/tmlnsn-louis-photographed-by-phil-sharp) to blame for this. 
> 
> Thank you to [Lauren](http://fullonlarrie.tumblr.com) for giving my brain something to run with, to [Molly](http://becomeawendybird.tumblr.com) for being a great beta, and to [Sara](https://thekingisawoman.tumblr.com) for letting me ramble way too much about this mess.

“Harry, I think the proofs from Noisey are here,” Louis calls down the hallway, closing the front door behind him. 

“Bring them in the kitchen, I’ll make us a drink!”

Louis rounds the corner into the kitchen, and sees Harry crouched in front of the bar cabinet. “You do know it’s 10am, right?”

“Which means it’s five o’clock somewhere, probably. C’mon Lou, we’re celebrating! Get in the spirit!”

“It’s just some magazine photos, not like I’ve never had me picture made before. I was also asleep fifteen minutes ago! Can’t we ‘celebrate’ in an hour?” 

Harry turns and levels his gaze at him. “Louis Tomlinson, if your arse isn’t on a bar stool in five seconds I will put it there myself. We are celebrating, and because I love you, even when you annoy me, I’m still going to give you the choice between a tequila sunrise and irish coffee.” 

“Bossy. That’s normally my job,” Louis says, climbing onto a stool and turning to wink at Harry. “Irish coffee, since I see the pot’s already on. Thanks, love.”

“He cooperates! A miracle! One for the books! Who knew sitting down to wait on a drink someone else is making could be so difficu-” Harry breaks off to yelp, Louis having thrown an orange that was sitting on the counter at him. 

“Oi! Just make the drinks, love, and maybe then I’ll let you look at me being what I hope is handsome.”

Five minutes later, with Harry seated next to him and two mugs in front of them, Louis opens the envelope. A photo of him in the peach sweater is on top. The next is the one of him wearing the red and white zipper jumper. 

“Lou, you look so good, I love these.”

“We’ve only seen two, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

The next is the one of him wearing the Champion jumper, his hair quiffed.

“You’re right, this one is garbage. The wall doesn’t bring out your eyes at all. M’suing. Who’s our lawyer now?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs, and flips to the next one, taking a sip of his coffee while he does it.  
He’s sitting in a leather chair wearing yet another jumper, holding a mug and smoking, and it’s been edited into black and white. Harry immediately picks it up to get a closer look. 

“Okay. Okay, I won’t sue. Lou, you look _hot_. You know I think you’re hot always but this is... Can we put this over the fireplace? I’m putting it over the fireplace.” 

“We can discuss putting one in a frame in the office when we’ve looked at all of them. Maybe I haven’t peaked yet, you never know.”

Harry gives him a look that seems to say _I don’t think anything could top this_ but Louis knows his boy. And he has a suspicion of what’s coming. He flips to the next one, and hears Harry’s breath hitch audibly and then slow. 

_“Lou_. Holy _fuck_.”

In the photo, Louis is sitting in a leather chair, smoking, not looking at the camera, his arm littered with tattoos visible in the foreground. 

Louis looks over at Harry just in time for their lips to connect, Harry’s tongue immediately bypassing Louis’ lips to swipe against his teeth, groaning at the same time. Louis gets a hand in Harry’s hair and pulls, making Harry keen and try to deepen their kiss, while getting his arm between them to get a hand on Louis’ quickly hardening cock over his joggers. 

Harry pulls back long enough to whine out, “Lou, Lou, wanna get my mouth on you, _please_ ,” and then meets Louis’ lips again with, if possible, more urgency than before. 

Louis pulls back to chuckle softly. “Well, from now on it’s in all me contracts. ‘Louis Tomlinson will only be photographed seated in a leather chair while smoking.’ What do you think?”

Instead of answering, Harry’s getting off his stool and turning Louis’ away from the counter. He’s attempting to pull Louis’ bottoms off far enough to get skin to skin contact, only pausing to say, “I think you need to stop talking and let me suck you off,” before bending down to lick a stripe up Louis’ cock. He looks up long enough to add, “And we need to buy that fucking chair,” before ducking down again to get his mouth all the way around his boyfriend. 

Louis smirks. He had already ordered the chair. 

~

Harry was tired. Promo had been fun, but draining. Answering the same questions over and over is tedious and often boring, there’s no getting around it. 

His flight had been delayed getting home, and despite his better judgment he’d read an article on the plane claiming he and Jenny Slate should have a summer fling based on the fact they were both wearing “good shoes” on The Tonight Show. He’d been wearing his rainbow boots. He’s considering asking Gucci to make him a bespoke suit out of the colors of the rainbow with a lining that has “FUCK YOU I’M GAY” printed on it when a text comes through from Louis. 

_Hi love. I know your flight got delayed, and we were looking forward to seeing each other but I’m completely knackered. Going to bed. Stay up as late as you need to, we’ll have a cuddle when you join me. Love you!_

Harry sighs, his mood instantly dropping. They’d both been so busy, him with the movie and Louis with his single that they hadn’t had a lot of time together the past few weeks. He’d just wanted to go home and cuddle and maybe snog a little. Clearly that was too much to ask. It wasn’t even that late, and Louis almost always stayed up later than he did. He sighs again, but it doesn't help anything. He doesn't send a reply. 

Twenty minutes later the car pulls into their driveway and he gets out, taking his bags and thanking the driver. The porch light isn’t even on. _Welcome home_ , he thinks. 

He gets his key in the door and shoulders it open, taking no care to make sure it closes quietly, throwing his bags into a corner in the foyer with maybe a _little bit_ more force than necessary. He’ll get them tomorrow. Walking toward their bedroom, he sees a soft light on in the living room. Maybe Louis had forgotten to turn it off, or maybe he wanted him to have a little bit of light coming in. His bad mood ebbs just a tiny bit, and he moves to go turn it off. 

He stops short the second his boots cross the threshold.

Louis is awake. Smoking. And sitting in a new leather chair. 

“Quite the ruckus from someone who thought they were coming home to a sleeping household,” Louis says on an exhale of smoke. 

_Oh_. Harry has been set up. At the moment, he can't say he’s upset about it. In an instant, he decides how he wants to play this. He’s spent too long thinking about what they would do with that chair if it were in their house, and this is his chance. 

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t thought you were bailing on me I would have tried harder to be quiet,” he huffs.

Louis levels his gaze at him. “Is that so?”

Harry nods. And winks. 

Louis doesn’t react, just takes another drag and says, “Very well. You have fifteen minutes to shower and put in the plug I left on the bathroom counter. No need to dress afterward. When you come back, kneel next to the chair on my right. You may go.” 

Harry almost trips in his haste to turn around and rush to their en suite, setting a timer on his phone for 12 minutes so he won’t be late. He wants to push a little bit, but not so much he doesn't get what he wants. Which is to be used a little bit, and then to have an orgasm. 

He has two fingers worked into himself when he hears his phone chime go off. He inserts the plug - not too big, but made of weighted steel that just brushed his prostate - washes his hands, turns his phone on silent, and walks quickly to the living room. 

Louis isn't there. 

He kneels next to the chair, places his palms flat upon his thighs. And waits. 

He can’t see a clock. His knees hurt. He’s half-hard, and shifts his weight slightly. Shifts it back. 

“Harry.”

He stills, Louis approaching from behind him through the door that led into the kitchen. He stops behind Harry.

“Have I gotten so soft on you that you can’t be still for me for more than three minutes?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No. M’sorry.”

Louis steps in front of Harry. “Look at me.”

Harry looks up at him. He’s still fully clothed in joggers and a long sleeve tee, holding a highball glass, half full, the low light casting the condensation into relief. 

“I made myself a drink while I was waiting on you. I’d like to sit in my new chair and enjoy it, but as you can see, there’s no table for me to use. Do you think you could remedy that for me?”

“Y-yes,” Harry manages to grit out, his cheeks flushing quickly. 

“Thank you.” Louis moves to sit in the chair, adding, “By all means, whenever you’re ready,” with a wave of his free hand. 

Harry flushes even harder, quickly dropping his hands to the carpet, and adjusts himself alongside the chair before straightening out his back into a plane flat enough to hold a glass. 

Louis sits down, and with no warning, places the cold glass slightly below Harry’s shoulder blades, leaning down to whisper, “For your sake, I hope you don’t spill it.”

Harry groans quietly, prompting Louis to add in a normal tone, “That’s been enough noise out of you for now. I was having a peaceful night, looking forward to seeing you. Then you ignored my text, barged in the front door, and threw your bags down while huffing around. Very rude. So for now, you will hold my drink, and you will be quiet, unless you need to use a safe word. I will take your silence to mean you understand.”

Harry lets out a soft breath, and resigns himself to not spilling Louis’ drink and to not thinking about the plug inside him. He loves when they’re together like this, when Louis takes over and allows him to just...not think. He closes his eyes, letting his mind wander, trying to slip under. He’s home. Clean. That goddamn chair is in their house. He has a plug inside him. 

Before he can get too far down _that_ line of thought, he feels a finger trace down his spine and stop at the top of his crack. His breath hitches slightly, but he remains still. Louis traces his finger back up, and picks up the glass. Harry assumes he drank some of it, and then he sits it back down. In a different spot. He shivers slightly, but not enough to knock it off balance. 

“Careful.” 

The finger was back, this time dipping into his crease to push lightly on the plug. 

Harry’s breathing picks up, but he manages to remain steady. 

Louis pulls the plug out a little bit at the same moment he picks up the glass again. He rocks it back in when he sits the glass down in yet a different spot. 

Harry bites back a whine. 

“I’ve missed you, you know. Saw you on Twitter every day, Harry and Lou sent me Snaps. You looked so good. Out there, charming everyone in your path. No one who meets you stands a chance. But they don’t get to see this. How you are for me. Harry Styles, the table for my drink.”

Harry is fully hard, Louis pushing all the right buttons. 

The finger is back again, tracing up his spine, down to prod at the plug, up to trace around the condensation circles left on on his back, down to pull the plug halfway out before immediately pushing it back in, hitting Harry’s prostate. 

Harry lets out a moan before he knows what he's doing, before he can stop it. 

“I believe I told you to be quiet. You’ve earned twenty spankings once I finish my drink, provided you make no more mistakes.”

Harry stays still, cock still fully hard and leaking, hoping Louis finishes his drink soon so they could move on. 

Finally, Louis picks the glass up and doesn’t put it back, instead placing his right hand on Harry’s arse, pinching lightly. 

“Thank you for not spilling my drink. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to stay quiet. Over my lap, please.” 

Harry situates himself as quickly as possible while still being slightly stiff from staying still for so long. 

Louis’ hands are on him immediately, tugging in his hair, roaming up and down his back, touching the backs of his knees and thighs. Then one hand is planted on the small of his back, the other fucking the plug in and out. 

Louis hasn’t said he can make noise, and it’s all he can do to contain it. The contact feels so good after so long without, but he’s determined to make it through the end of what Louis has planned. 

“We’ll do twenty with my hand. The only noise I want to hear from you is a count, unless you need to use your word. You are to be still. You are not to come. Nod once if you understand.”

Harry nods, taking hold of Louis’ ankles, relaxing into his lap, and waits for the first strike. 

It doesn’t come. Instead, Louis’ hands are back on him, repeating the patterns from earlier, pushing and pulling on the plug, making Harry want to do nothing more than squirm. 

Just when he feels like he can’t handle anymore teasing, Louis’ palm makes contact on his right arse cheek.

“One,” breathes Harry. 

Two through eight fall on alternating cheeks, Harry counting each one. 

Nine and ten are two handed that land on both cheeks at once, Harry crying out their numbers. 

Eleven doesn’t come. Perhaps worse than before, Louis isn’t on him at all, leaving him naked across his boyfriend’s lap with a plug in him wanting to find friction but knowing it’s in his best interest not to. 

He’s started counting in his mind to track the time, to keep from floating too soon, reaching seventy two seconds, before feeling eleven crack down, and he counts that one out loud. 

By the time eighteen lands, Harry feels like he’s on the verge of tears. Not from pain but from frustration. He’s been hard for what feels like ages, the plug nudging his prostate with every smack, his mind fuzzy around the edges, only caring about when he can come, dangerously close to the edge from just Louis’ hands. 

Louis takes yet another break to tease him, and Harry tenses up before feeling nineteen and twenty land in quick succession. Harry counts them off and breaks off into a pant, feeling Louis pull the plug completely out, and uses every part of his mental capacity that's left to not move and find the relief he needs. 

“Took that so well for me, love, m’proud of you.”

Harry relaxes into his lap at the first bit of praise he’s received since he got home, Louis’ palm resting comfortingly on his slightly red and tender arse. 

“Why don’t you show me how happy you are to be home, baby? Get that mouth of yours on me, know how much you love being good for me.”

Harry slides to the floor, facing the chair, and it hits him all at once that Louis is still clothed and that’s...something. 

He reaches for the waistband of Louis’ bottoms and tugs them down far enough to see that he’s not wearing any pants. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t moan, despite wanting to. Louis shimmies out of them the rest of the way, his cock resting against his belly, wet with precome. 

Harry gets his mouth on him almost instantly, and as soon as he sinks down as far as he can go, Louis is whispering in his ear; “Don’t have to be quiet anymore, baby.”

All of the noises Harry has been trying to keep inside come spilling out, mingling with the slick sounds of him working his mouth over Louis’ cock. He loses himself in it, taking Louis as deep as he can, trying to ignore the empty feeling he has now that the plug is gone, hoping that Louis will fuck him but knowing better than to ask. 

He can tell Louis is getting close when he feels a hand in his hair, tugging him backwards, making him pull off with a pop. He tries to catch his breath. 

Something inside of him snaps. “ _Louis_ ,” he whines. “ _Need you_.”

“I’ve got you, baby. Get up, turn around, and bend over to hold your ankles.”

Harry does as he’s told, and the next thing he knows, he feels two of Louis’ fingers coated in lube slide in, taking the place of the plug from earlier. He rocks back onto them, chasing the feeling of being full.

“That’s a lot of movement from someone who hasn’t been told they can come yet.”

“M’sorry,” Harry says, trying to be still, but little moans still slipping out every few seconds because it feels so good. Louis is hitting his prostate with every rock of his fingers, a third finger slipping in to stretch him even more. Then Louis’ other hand is on his cock, stroking him in time with the fingers inside of him and it’s so _much_. 

“Tell me if you get close.”

Harry makes it maybe thirty seconds before crying out, “Yeah, m’close, so close, please, _please_.”

Louis doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps working him over and this is it, Harry is going to come. He can feel it curling in his belly, helpless to stop it, not wanting to disappoint Louis, but he can’t not come. He closes his eyes, resigning himself to the orgasm threatening to take him over when Louis lets go of his cock and removes his fingers, all sensation  
stopping at once. 

“Knew you could wait for me, my good boy.”

Harry keens, feeling so turned on, so close to the edge, so overwhelmed. He’s still bent over, holding his ankles, because Louis hasn’t said he can move yet, and it just adds to the feeling of him being exposed and vulnerable and he _loves it_ but it’s also _a lot_ , and he can feel himself starting to slip under, trusting Louis to take care of him, to ground him. 

He's about to ask for something, anything when Louis puts both hands on Harry’s hips, saying, “Straighten up for me, I'm going to fuck you in this chair you wanted so badly.” 

Harry straightens and moans, feeling the blood flow from his head straight to his cock, making him, if possible, even harder. He's been hard for what feels like hours, has given up trying to predict what Louis might ask of him next, and he can only hope that he'll be allowed to come soon. 

Louis’ hands are still on his hips and Harry hears the leather creak as he stands from the chair, pressing himself into Harry's back. Harry can feel the heat emanating from him, but then Louis rocks his cock in Harry's crack, lightly catching the head on his rim, making Harry let out a high pitched moan followed by a string of him desperately babbling _want you so bad_ and _please, please fuck me_ and _I'll be so good for you, I promise_. 

“Turn around, spread your knees out on the seat of the chair, and hold onto the back.” 

Harry rushes to comply, his hands having just gripped onto the chair back, when Louis’ fingers are back with more lube, pushing it into his hole. Then Louis is behind him once more, the material from the shirt he’s _still wearing_ scratching against Harry's back, the seat of the chair dipping to accommodate the added weight, making it harder for Harry to maintain his position. 

He doesn't have time to adjust before Louis enters him with a single thrust, grazing Harry’s prostate, bottoming out and pausing long enough to say, “Know you get off on letting me use you like this.” 

All Harry can do is groan and try and keep hold of the chair which is becoming harder due to his sweaty palms. Louis sets a pace that barely gives Harry a chance to catch his breath in between thrusts that drag against his prostate and have him hurtling to the edge almost immediately. 

Louis gets a hand around him and jerks him in time with his thrusts making Harry pant out “M’gonna come, Lou, m’gonna, m’gonna, please, _please_.”

“I don't remember giving you permission. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll use you to get myself off and make you wait until morning. Wake you up in the middle of the night with my mouth, get you close, just to see you squirm and beg, knowing I'll still make you wait.” 

The rational side of Harry’s brain shuts down completely, and he's floating. The only thing that matters is pleasing Louis, doing as he's told, making it to the end, whenever and whatever that may be. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking out the corners, trying not to focus on the hard drag of Louis inside of him, on how good it feels, but absolutely failing. 

Louis hooks his other arm under Harry’s shoulder, hauling him into a more upright position from where he's slouched into the back of the chair. The change in angle means he's nailing Harry’s prostate on every thrust, and Harry thinks he's going to go mad with it when he feels Louis stutter inside of him and hears him say, “I'll let you come if you can do it in the next ten seconds. If not, I guess you'll just have to wait.”

One, two, three drags of Louis’ hand over Harry’s cock and he’s _coming_ , sounds leaving his mouth he didn't know he was capable of making, feeling like he's completely weightless, Louis working him through the orgasm that feels like it will never stop. 

He barely registers the soft kisses being pressed to his shoulder, Louis pulling out of him, Louis helping him turn around and sit in the chair, wiping him down with a soft flannel. 

Louis puts a glass of water to his lips, helps him drink it while telling him how much he loves him, how good he was, how he's Louis’ perfect boy, how amazed he is every time they’re together like this. 

Harry blinks his eyes open long enough to mumble, “Love you, Lou. Can we please go to bed so I can have that cuddle you promised me? Missed you.” 

They get under the covers, and Louis plasters himself to Harry’s back, both of them feeling like they can't get close enough to one another. 

Louis is just starting to drift off when Harry turns his head to look over his shoulder and asks, “Lou? Do you think we could get the couch you sat on in your music video, too?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://softgolfdaddy.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined!


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